Sorting Out Their Priorities
by dwellingonephemeraldreams
Summary: Short oneshots/drabbles about Ron and Hermione; includes His Pianist, which used to be a separate fic.
1. His Pianist

Her eyes trailed her fingers while they danced on the ivory keys, producing the music that Muggles apparently called 'Fur Elise'. Both parts of her body were overused: her eyes with her endless reading, and her fingers with writing all those assignments and knitting clothes for the house elves. Contrary to what she thinks, she's not just all 'books and cleverness'. She was determination and kindness and bravery and loyalty. She was his saviour when exams came around and when the threat of death hangs heavy on them. She was frizzy hair and soft skin. She was his star, his angel, his light, and everything else those poets raved about for pages and pages. She was the pianist that knew exactly which keys to play to send him to bliss, to misery, to quiet desperation, to rage, or maybe all of them at once. She made everything about him better because he had surrendered himself to her and she was better than he could ever hope to be. She made music out of him.

A laugh escaped her pretty lips when he tried to replicate her playing. He could never copy her music, he knew. She had started playing again to show him how it was done, but an orchestra wouldn't be able to turn his eyes from her face at that moment. She was creating music more euphonious than ever, and no piano was helping her. All she needed to entrance him was her eyes and her smile, and violins sang, trumpets blared, cymbals crashed along, and in the middle of it all, there was the pianist, twirling around her fingers while he twirled around in his head, trying to catch up with her notes.

Another laugh. Those eyes were now directed at him, and her mouth was saying something about her never finishing her piano lessons and being quite rubbish at it. No, no. He wanted to say. You play the best out of everyone, because who else could send me into this kind of frenzy? You're my pianist, and no lessons are needed. You composed me into a musical piece, and you didn't even know.

But he was too brash and ineloquent while she was graceful and articulate, so he just smiled and suddenly recalled something he should be doing. A slight disappointment crossed her face, and the orchestra she led slowed down infinitesimally. He would've wanted nothing more than to sit down and create new sounds with her, but his fingers were slow and clumsy and his words indelicate. Maybe someday after the war. Maybe someday, Ron will tell Hermione he loves her with all the passion and fervor she deserves. Maybe someday, he'll learn to make music out of her.


	2. Extra marks

'Hermione."

"What?"

"I need to… er, I need to practice.

"For what?"

"Quidditch. There's a match tomorrow, remember?"

"So go practice."

"I need someone to throw the Quaffle at me."

"Ask Harry or Peakes. I have to finish this Potions essay."

"You've written five bloody inches more than what Slughorn asked for."

"I like getting extra marks."

"_Extra marks? _Hermione, you _have _to try having fun and playing Quidditch at some point in your life."

"Only if you read _Hogwarts, A History."_

"I'll go get Harry."


	3. Bright

A small sliver of moonlight entered the window that was above Ron's bed, bathing his face in the silvery light and making it even paler than before. The poison that was in that wine was deadly, Hermione knew, and that was why she had restlessly lain in her bed, worried about what could her best friend could be feeling right now and if he was awake and if he needed anything or someone to speak to. _Hermione, he's unconscious, why would he need to talk to anyone?_

Unable to sleep, she finally gave in to what her gut was telling her, cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself (the strongest, longest-lasting one she knew, just to be safe), and went off towards the Hospital Wing. Years of wandering around the castle while under Harry's invisibility cloak had given her a certain quiet to her step that only master pranksters seemed to have and she arrived there in a couple of minutes. A few charms to get rid of the locks on the door, and she was inside. Ron's bed was easily spotted, with his hair in stark contrast to the whiteness of the sheets. _And his face. _Hermione grew fearful at that thought, but she calmed down when she saw that he was breathing normally with a slight, almost unnoticeable smile on his face. She felt a brief pang of jealousy when she wondered who he could be dreaming of, but scolded herself almost instantly for worrying about such petty things.

Ignoring the smile and the hundreds of school rules she must have been breaking, she sat down on the chair next to his bed and took his large, calloused hand in her own small one. Hermione knew she couldn't make him better by holding his hand, but it made her feel better, so she stayed there and watched his chest go up and down, up and down. _He looks peaceful while sleeping, _she thought idly. _And I never noticed that freckle under his chin before. _After Merlin knows how long, her eyelids started to go down and the sun began its journey up, and she figured she really should be making her way back to her dormitory now. Reclaiming her hand back from Ron's, she cast another Disillusionment Charm and was two steps away from the bed when she decided to go back for one last look.

"Get better, you insensitive, oblivious Weasley. I don't know what I'd do without you."

With that, she swept the red hair that was on his forehead and gave him a kiss on the cheek. As soundlessly as she arrived, Hermione left the Hospital Wing and went back to snatch the few hours of sleep she can. Her goodbye was just a soft murmur, and her kiss softer still, but if someone was there to have seen, the smile that was on Ron's freckled face after she shut the door to the room was anything but slight or almost unnoticeable. In fact, it could possibly be classified as bright as the sliver of sunlight that was illuminating his flushed, definitely-no-longer-pale cheeks.


	4. Truth Be Told

Truth be told, Ron actually liked Lavender Brown. The problem was that she seemed to like him _too much. _She was clingy and unbelievably jealous of every girl Ron so much as looked at. One time, he had smiled a little too brightly at Hannah Abbott after she had helped him with a Herbology question, and Lavender went on and on for hours about "overly friendly smiling" and "shows of hidden affection" that _obviously _meant he was replacing her. It had taken him patience he didn't even know he had to sit through the lecture. Afterwards, Harry was the poor bloke that had to listen to Ron go on and on about "paranoid, impossible-to-reason-with witches" and their "tendencies to blow everything out of proportion". And her choice of nicknames and Christmas presents? Dear Merlin, Ron didn't even want to go there.

Putting all that aside, though, Lavender definitely had redeeming traits. Years of being best friends with the Boy Who Lived made sure that he was never the one girls looked at first and gave him some very, very dangerous years of schooling. Being with Lavender changed that, you see. Her supposedly annoying clinginess actually made him feel _wanted, _which was something he wasn't used to at all. Sure, she might be a bit shallow and vapid, but Ron figured that was a good break from all the doom Harry brought along with his friendship.

Also, she had soft, willing lips, and her hair always felt nice when he had his fingers running through it. She smelled of her namesake flower whenever they were squashed up together in the same armchair. She showered him with affection and always cheered him on in his Quidditch matches. Hell, she even came to training sessions to watch, and sometimes brought him food she'd made for him. So, yes, if the truth was to be told, Ron actually really liked Lavender Brown.

The problem was that Ron _loved_ Hermione. (And he bet that she had softer lips too.)


End file.
